


A Partnership Renegotiated

by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels



Category: Red Widow (TV)
Genre: A Writer Looks at Her Choices, A Writer Looks at Her Life, F/M, I Can't Believe I Wrote Smut For This Show, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I have No Excuse, It's Such a Bad Show, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 01, There Are No Fanfics For It That Should Tell You Something, What Have I Done, leave me to my shame, okay a tiny bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22760566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Summary: Their business relationship was supposedly over, but it turns out there's still some things they can help each other with after all.
Relationships: Nicholae Schiller/Marta Walraven
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	A Partnership Renegotiated

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure I have only watched Schiller's scenes in this show and that's how I intend to keep it.

All that Marta wanted was a good soak in the tub and to go to bed, honestly. There was a massive mess in her life to clean up, but she can deal with it in the morning. It was only the latest in a series of messes her life had become in the last couple of months. And she’d learned, with everything poised to be taken away from her, how to truly be grateful for the nice car, the nice spacious house, the nice amenities she’d grown so used to.

What she _really_ wanted was to stop thinking, to stop having to be in control and taking charge and making all the decisions for once, but that was an impossibility, so. A nice, hot bath it was.

And then her phone rang.

The I.D. stopped her cold. “Mr. Schiller?”

“Ah, Marta.” She couldn’t remember the last time he’d called her by her first name. “If you would do me a favor… I have a visitor who needs to speak with you.”

There was a pause, a shuffling noise, and then… “Mom?”

Her heart felt like it had dropped into her stomach. “Natalie?” What was Natalie doing with Nicholae Schiller? “What’s going on, are you all right?”

Schiller wouldn’t hurt her daughter, would he? Not when they had just declared themselves even and clear of each other. Not when he’d put his considerable resources towards saving her when she’d been kidnapped. Schiller seemed to have his own strange brand of honor, his own code, and she didn’t think hurting children was permitted within the boundaries he set for himself.

“I’m all right.” Natalie’s voice went from shaky to hard. “It’s him that needs to worry.”

Oh. “Natalie. What are you doing.”

“He killed Dad.” She’d never heard her daughter’s voice sound like this before. “Now he’s trying to tell me that he didn’t, that you’ll confirm it.”

How did you tell your daughter that it was her own grandfather who’d ordered the hit? “Where are you?” So much for that bath. “I’m coming to get you.”

“I’m—”

There was a scuffling noise, and then Schiller was on the phone again. “I’ve got the gun now—”

“She had a gun!?”

She could _feel_ him taking a breath to keep himself patient. “I’ve got the gun now, so Natalie won’t be committing a murder in the middle of the street where anyone could see it. I’ll take her upstairs to the penthouse, you can meet us there.”

Natalie said something that sounded along the lines of _I’m not going anywhere_. Marta grabbed her shoes and put her coat back on. Christ. Could her children go one minute without making this mess even worse?

“I’ll be there,” she promised Schiller. “I’m sorry. She’s—she’s just a kid.”

There was a long pause, so long that she had to check to make sure the call hadn’t been dropped, and then Schiller said, his voice rough, “I know what it’s like to lose a father. We’ll see you at the penthouse.”

He hung up, and Marta had to take a deep patient breath herself to hold back the urge to strangle both Schiller and her daughter.

* * *

When she arrived at the penthouse, Natalie was sitting on the sofa while Schiller was lounging in one of the chairs, like a king on a leather-back throne.

“Ah, Marta.” Clearly the first name basis schtick was to help Natalie see that she and Schiller were actually on good terms. “Glad you could get here so quickly. I was just explaining to Natalie how to properly murder someone, should the situation ever arise again.”

“It’s not going to arise again.” She couldn’t be sure if Schiller was serious or joking about instructing her daughter in the finer points of assassination and body disposal.

She looked over at Natalie, who seemed contrite, shrinking back into the couch like that would somehow make her invisible.

For all of his sharp edges and casual, matter-of-fact ruthlessness, Schiller was also tactful. More tactful than she’d given him credit for when she’d first met him. He stood up with a brisk nod and walked over to his desk, shuffling papers around and tapping away at his computer. He could definitely hear them, if he put his mind to it, but she also understood he couldn’t very well leave them alone after the stunt Natalie had just tried to pull.

Marta sat down, her knees feeling weak. “Natalie. Honey.” She took her daughter’s hands. Her daughter wasn’t exactly a child anymore, she tried to remind herself. Natalie would want to be dealt with as an adult. “Nicholae didn’t kill your father.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Schiller pause at the use of his first name. When he went back to his typing, it seemed stilted compared to before.

Another deep breath. It was all right. She could do this. Just like she’d managed to do everything else. “Your grandfather did. For reasons that… we won’t get into right now. That’s why I’ve been… things have been weird, lately. Nicholae’s helped me turn your grandfather over to the authorities, so that he’ll pay for what he did. So that he’ll be properly punished. Not through murder. We don’t do that. Through the law, the way it’s supposed to be.”

Schiller was doing a very good job of holding in the incredulous snort she knew he wanted to give.

Natalie stared at her. “He… you’re not serious. Are you serious right now?”

Marta winced. “I mean, I could call a few federal agents if you don’t believe me…”

This time, Schiller did snort.

Natalie make that _tssk_ noise in the back of her throat favored by teenagers everywhere. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s—Grandpa? Really?”

“I know it’s hard to accept…”

“It’s not, though.” Natalie gave a kind of painful half-laugh that Marta recognized. She’d given that laugh, herself, over the last few weeks. “That’s what sucks.”

Marta glanced over at Schiller again. He was looking at his computer like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “You’ll need time to adjust, like I did, and that’s okay. But I can’t have you doing something like that again. If you ever are in a situation like that… you talk to me, okay? We’re very lucky. Nicholae’s a good person. He’s the one who helped get you back safely to me. And _you’re_ lucky that he got the gun from you. Taking someone’s life, someone dying in front of you, it’s…”

She found herself, surprisingly, looking at Schiller again, feeling lost. How could she describe something so—so—

Schiller stood up and walked back over, hands casually in his pockets. “It’s something you can’t take back. Picture the last time you said something horrible to your brother. Or to a friend. Consider how awful you felt at the time, how you wish you could undo it. Killing someone—it’s even worse.”

If you’d asked her five minutes ago, she would have said that Schiller never regretted hurting anyone. But Schiller, although able to keep his temper, was not a good actor. And right now, she could hear the same raw tone in his voice that she’d noticed when he’d thanked her for saving his father’s life.

Apparently there were deaths in his life that Schiller regretted.

Natalie looked plenty remorseful, thank God. She didn’t want her kids getting involved in this mess, or rather involving themselves in it of their own accord. “We should get home. You can sleep on this, and tomorrow, we’ll have a nice breakfast out. Just the two of us, no school. And we’ll talk more. Okay?”

Natalie nodded silently.

Well, it was something.

Marta stood up and grabbed her coat, but to her surprise Schiller crossed the room and took it from her, holding it out for her.

She tried not to feel… something as she turned around and let him help her slide it on. Just like she’d felt something in the hospital when she’d had to stop Schiller from going after the doctor, and later when he’d put the necklace on her. A thousand odd moments that were like shards of glass, reflecting light, a shattered mirror she couldn’t quite get a clear picture on.

“You should come back,” he said, low enough that Natalie couldn’t hear. Ah, of course. The coat had been to disguise his real motive. “Clearly we have things to discuss.”

“We’ve already discussed everything.”

Schiller arched an eyebrow at her, and how he crammed a full sentence into just one expression, she didn’t know. “I’ll wait up.”

The damn man, always used to getting his own way. But she had to admit, it was a bit of a relief to have someone else taking charge. She’d spent these last few weeks in a state of helplessness but also in a state of frantic action, having to constantly make choices and clean up messes and scramble—always having to be in charge of handling _some_ crisis or other. And Schiller’s tone wasn’t the _you will do as I say because I’m the boss_ kind of tone that drove her nuts. It was the tone he’d used when Natalie had been taken, the _don’t worry, I’ve got you, I’ll handle it_ tone that—like it or not, and she really hadn’t liked it at the time—made her feel… comforted. Reassured.

“Fine.” She’d come back. Clearly it was important, since she and Schiller had permanently parted ways only a few hours ago.

Schiller gave her… it wasn’t a smile, exactly. But it was like he was trying.

The drive home with Natalie was silent. Her daughter just stared out the window. It wasn’t until Marta got her to bed that Natalie started crying, repeating _I’m sorry, Mom, I’m really sorry_ as Marta stroked her hair, soothing her.

“You’ll apologize to Mr. Schiller for me?” Natalie asked, at the end.

“Of course. He doesn’t hold it against you.” Somehow, she knew that was true.

Once Natalie was asleep it was already midnight, but Schiller had said he’d wait up, and he was always true to his word. She sent him a text to let him know she was on her way—the drive didn’t take long, not at this time of night—and at last, she was back in the penthouse.

To her surprise, Schiller was stretched out on the couch, his tie and suit jacket off, the top couple buttons of his shirt undone. “Ah.” The moment he stood up, however, it was as if his armor was fully in place still. Even as his hair flopped a bit into his eyes.

It was a side of him she hadn’t seen before. Not for the first time it occurred to her that Nicholae Schiller was a handsome man—but for the first time since he’d placed that necklace on her, she truly _felt_ it. He was handsome. The kind of handsome that broke hearts.

“What Natalie did was—unforgivably reckless,” Marta started. “And she’s sorry. She wanted you to know that.”

Schiller shook his head, walking over. “You saw me in the hospital, after my father’s heart attack. I was—I was out of control in a way that I—very rarely am. I don’t blame Natalie. I’m not angry with her.”

“Then why do you want to talk?”

Schiller gave her a look, the one that said _come now, Marta, you’re not stupid_. “We acknowledged, earlier, that we’re not entirely… safe. The Duchenko family will be after us.”

“And what am I supposed to do about that? Go on the run?”

“Has your FBI friend not offered you witness protection?”

Marta swallowed. “I know there are supposed to be follow-up meetings. They still might want me to—” She didn’t want to think about it.

Schiller nodded. “That’s what I thought. They’ll want you to try and turn on me, they’ll still want to get me. And if they don’t offer you witness protection…”

“Then I won’t be safe—my _children_ won’t be safe—from the Duchenkos.”

“I know you want them safe.” Schiller shrugged. “So I thought it might be ultimately beneficial to… work out a plan.”

Marta rubbed at her temples. “This is insanity.” The couch looked incredibly inviting. She sat down, feeling a bit dizzy.

Schiller chuckled, staring down at her. “Do you need a drink?”

“Ugh. Yes? No. I shouldn’t.”

Schiller looked at her for a long moment, and she was reminded of when Irwin—stupid, loveable but _incredibly_ stupid Irwin—had strolled into Schiller’s place, and she’d arrived, and the whole time Schiller had been the cat playing with the mouse and Irwin’d had no idea. He’d been having one conversation with Irwin, but the whole time, he’d been having a whole other conversation with her. It had been like he was saying _you and I can communicate like this, because we’re smarter. We’re a step ahead. We know what he doesn’t._

That first job, those first few times with Schiller, she had been far behind. Now, it felt like they were speaking the same language.

“If you want a drink, you can have it,” Schiller said at last. “You don’t have to drive home, you’re welcome to stay here.”

“I don’t want a drink, exactly.” She sank back against the couch. “I want to stop—I want to not have to think for two fucking seconds.”

“Mmm. Not a luxury we can afford, in our world.”

“I’m pretty sure you the kind of guy who gets work done even on vacation.”

Schiller chuckled again. “I like to be in control, what’s wrong with that?”

“You don’t get exhausted with it?”

“My entire life was a fight for control. It’s when it’s taken away from me that I feel…” He shrugged. “It’s like an itch.”

“I just want to know what to do, and do it, and stop… there are so many choices in front of me constantly and I’m sick of having to choose.”

Schiller hummed. “Sounds like you need to get laid.”

Marta felt like she was choking on her own spit. “My husband died.”

Schiller arched an eyebrow at her.

Marta sighed. She was having to come to terms with the fact that Evan, as much as she had loved him, wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. And she could admit that enough time had passed that she could see herself being with someone else. But still— “Where would I even find the time?”

“God only knows.” Schiller walked over to the drinks cupboard. “My father was always suggesting a call girl but that’s not really my taste.”

“No, it doesn’t seem like it. Can’t lower your guard enough for a call girl. They might see past your almighty kingpin act.”

“It’s not an act,” Schiller replied, but he sounded amused.

“Mmm, you sure?” She tucked her feet up under her. She wasn’t sure, exactly, what was happening right now, but she… liked it. “I’ve seen you get punched, remember?”

“Technically, you saw me get kicked.” Schiller turned back to look at her, drink in hand, but he wasn’t sipping from it. He was, however, giving her a small smile—a genuine smile, not one of his alpha wolf smiles that had at first terrified her and now gave her an odd thrill she tried not to think about.

“So what you’re saying is, we team up. Prepare ourselves.”

“Yes.” Schiller set down his untouched glass. “If you wanted to we could—send the children somewhere. Put them up in a boarding school in Europe, fake names, I know some people.”

“I don’t know if I could send my children away.” If it came down to that for their safety, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Schiller tilted his head. “Fair enough.”

A question nagged at her. “Why are you doing this? I have kids, I have a father in custody, you’re probably going to take over his territory, I’ve got FBI ties now—I’m a liability. You should cut me loose. Or offer me up to the Duchenkos. You’ll have enough work protecting yourself, it makes no sense for you to work harder to protect me and mine.”

Something crossed Schiller’s face—a vulnerability, one she hadn’t seen since their eyes had met in the mirror. His fingers had been at the back of her neck, doing up the clasp on the necklace. They’d looked like something other than reluctant employer and employee in that moment. They’d looked like…

 _Lovers_ , her mind whispered.

“When you get to be in my position,” Schiller said, quietly, “you sometimes, rarely, get the luxury of doing something simply because you want to do it.”

“And why do you want to protect me?”

Schiller looked away from her. “Come now, Mrs. Walraven. You’re smarter than that.”

“Marta.” He looked back up at her. “You called me Marta, earlier. In front of Natalie.”

“You called me Nicholae.”

“It seemed appropriate.”

“Well then.”

She had spent some time wondering about the color of Schiller’s eyes. More time than she would’ve liked to admit. Sometimes they looked almost black, but at other times, they seemed almost blue. Right now they were dark, and yet, they looked softer than she’d ever seen them.

_I like to be in control._

She wanted to give up control.

It would complicate their relationship—but their relationship had been complicated from the start.

_My God, you’re complicated._

_I wasn’t, until I met you._

Marta met his gaze. She stood slowly, and like those other times, it was as if she didn’t have to speak for him to know what she was thinking.

Schiller looked at her for a long moment. She could hear his silent question. _Are you sure this is what you want?_

Honestly? She wasn’t sure if it was what she should be doing. But she was fucking tired of trying to figure out what she should be doing. She was tired of trying to keep her head above water. Schiller liked to be in control and when he was—he took care of her. He made sure she came out on top. And he respected her. Maybe even understood her.

And God, it had been so fucking long since someone had taken care of her. Since she hadn’t had to _think_ all the time and stay in constant control of herself.

Marta crossed to him and lifted up her chin. Her heart was pounding so rapidly she was sure he could hear it.

Schiller looked, for once, like he wasn’t sure what to say. “You…”

“You’ve wanted this.” She knew it, with a sudden, hot certainty that curled in the pit of her stomach. The necklace, the Duchenko party they’d crashed—

“You shouldn’t do something just because I want it.” His voice was hushed. She had never seen Nicholae Schiller be soft with anyone besides his father, and yet, she’d dare to say he was being soft with her.

Marta drew in a breath that shuddered in her lungs. This close she could smell him, the subtle but distinctive notes of expensive leather and cologne—but also another one, that she hadn’t before, the natural musk of him. Like the armor that Schiller always wore was finally falling away.

“I’m done doing things just because you want me to, remember?” She looked him in the eye. “I want this. I want to stop—my brain. I just want it to—you say that you don’t, but you have, taken care of me. Reluctantly at first, I’m aware of it, but you have. And I want…”

_You will not drink. You will not speak, unless I address you._

She wanted that.

Schiller curled his finger under her ear, as he had that time, turning her head, his lips just brushing the curve of her lobe. “And if I give you instructions, will you actually listen to them this time?”

“Yes.” It was barely even a whisper, more like a breath.

“Yes, Nicholae.”

“Yes, Nicholae.” She would’ve pegged him for the ‘sir’ type, but then he pulled back and she saw the black of his eyes, and thought of her hand on his chest in the hospital, stopping him on his rampage, and thought—no, realized—that Nicholae hadn’t been wanting her just for sex.

How had she not seen it?

Nicholae’s finger shifted from her ear to her chin, directly under her mouth. He lifted her face up, and she was reminded of their considerable height difference. His gaze roamed over her face, considering, analyzing, like he was silently double-checking that she really was wanting this. Marta did her best to hold his gaze. He should know by now that when she said she would do something, she’d do it.

His finger, just the one, trailed down her throat, lightly tracing her clavicle, then lower, until the collar of her shirt stopped it. She could feel heat everywhere he’d touched, shivering a little. If she’d ever spared a thought to how Nicholae Schiller had sex (and she had, back in the beginning, when she’d worried that might be something he demanded from her) she would’ve expected him to grab, to yank, to shove, to devour in one swallow like a snake, to rend and tear like a wolf.

Instead, he seemed to want to take his time.

“Since we’re… here,” Nicholae went on, his finger slowly tracing patterns into her skin, “I think it’s time we were honest.”

“I thought we were.”

“You wore that outfit, the short skirt, to try and win me over when we were discussing your son’s education.”

Ah. Yes. Well. She could feel her face heating up. “Maybe.”

“I don’t find such blatant and shallow manipulation attractive.”

“Noted. I’ll go for subtle manipulation in the future.”

He actually cracked a smile at that, then nodded at her. “Strip.”

It was like that first time, only when he’d asked her then, his gaze had been clinical. He’d had less interest in her body than a doctor at a physical. He’d only cared about her wearing a wire (and right he’d been, to worry). Now, the heat in his gaze seemed to envelop her, almost stifle her. She was breathing it in like a drug—but she wanted to get high. She’d spent far too long sober.

Fingers trembling a little, she started to do as instructed. “When did you, then?”

“Hmm?” Nicholae seemed rather occupied with staring at the skin that was steadily being revealed.

“When did you find me attractive.”

He raised his eyes back up to meet hers. She was down to just her underwear, now. It was rather boring, utilitarian underwear, but Nicholae didn’t seem to care about that. “When you told me that everything that could’ve gone wrong on that job did, and you handled it. When you spoke up in Russian at the Duchenko party. When you fired that gun.” He took a few steps towards her, putting himself completely back into her space. “When you were _smart_. When you were _capable_. The woman that you should be, not the bored housewife you had been.”

She was sure that he could hear her heartbeat now.

Nicholae’s gaze dropped down, then back up. “I don’t recall telling you to stop.”

Oh. Right. Marta finished stripping, painfully aware that she was now completely exposed while Nicholae was still ninety percent dressed. That was his point, obviously. And unlike before—she didn’t feel any less exposed but she felt safe. He wasn’t going to humiliate her, or use her, and he wasn’t going to let anyone else see this. It was safe here.

At last—at last he touched her, his hand sliding down, along her stomach—and then his hands were at her hips, spinning her, and he was pressed against her back, his arm around her, pinning her, his other hand up at her throat, forcing her head to tip back onto his shoulder.

She probably should’ve been terrified. Instead she found herself sinking back into it, melting, hot all over.

“Shh.” He stroked her skin, kissed the hidden spot just behind her ear. “Relax. I’ve got you.” He paused. “You know this whole entire thing would’ve gone much easier if you’d trusted me.”

“Is this making a point?”

“No, just an observation.” His hand at her throat nudged her chin, guiding her to look up.

They were across from the mirror. Marta’s breath caught as she surveyed the two of them. She hadn’t realized her body was that flushed, or that he could see how wet she was between her legs, but between that and her nakedness, pressed up against his fine suit, they were almost like a piece of art, a perverse painting.

“I’m guessing you’re not into being punished, at least not tonight.” He punctuated his words with soft, barely-there presses of his lips to her neck, his lower hand stroking just above where she wanted it, sending more sticky heat spreading through her. “And I won’t, not unless you disobey. We can talk about what that all means later, so right now, you’ll do as I say, and if you don’t like something you’ll tell me, and I’ll take care of you. If you want something in particular you have to tell me.” His teeth scraped against her earlobe, tugging. “Do we have a deal?”

Marta nodded.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Nicholae.”

She could feel his purr vibrating against her back. “Such a pleasant change, you obeying me.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Outside the bedroom she was going to fight and scratch and dig in her heels just as much as before.

His hand tightened around her throat—not much, just a little—and a bolt of lust shot through her, deep and dark and unexpected. “I’d expect nothing less. I like that fire. But not in here, hmm? Here, you’re going to obey.”

“Yes, Nicholae.”

“Good.” His hand moved up from her throat. “Open your mouth.”

Two of his fingers slid inside and she closed her eyes instinctively as she sucked on them. It was impossible to ignore the hard cock she could feel pressed against her ass, even through the fabric of Nicholae’s pants, and she pushed back into it, only for the arm around her waist to squeeze.

“Hold still.”

She stopped moving, breathing hard through her nose as he began to slide his fingers in and out of her mouth. Her hands—when had she moved them?—dug into his forearms, a feeble anchor as his free hand moved up, cupping one of her breasts.

“Eyes open,” he growled, and she forced herself to obey, to stare ahead, to watch as he touched her wherever, however he wanted. There was a small part of her that felt as though she should be ashamed, but the larger part of her was thrilling at it, at letting go and giving in. Like there was this darker part of herself that she’d been fighting all this time, ignoring, denying, and now she was just… letting it out. Letting it run wild the way she’d been secretly craving.

“Good girl,” Nicholae crooned, and that—that made her shiver all over.

It was stupid, but when was the last time someone had praised her? Told her she was doing well? She’d been busting her ass this entire time and not one person had appreciated it.

But Nicholae said _good girl_ like he was proud of her. Like he meant it. Like she’d _pleased_ him.

He drew his fingers out of her mouth and slid them down between her legs. “Oh, you like that?” He pinched her nipple and she gasped—and then he was pushing his spit-slick fingers inside of her.

Oh, _fuck_.

“You want me to tell you how valuable you’ve become?” His thumb passed over her clit, a little rough, and she bit down hard on her lip to keep from making noise. “How hard it was to let you walk out that door earlier? To say goodbye? You want to know how impressed I’ve been?”

She was clawing at his arms now, frustrated as he refused to speed up his pace inside of her, barely touching her clit. Teasing her. Of course she should’ve known he’d be a bastard in the bedroom.

“Relax,” Nicholae whispered as a whimper escaped her. “I have you. You’ll get everything you want.” He drew his nose along the curve of her face, kissed her jaw.

She sagged in his arms and Nicholae made that purring noise again in satisfaction. “That’s it. Beautiful.”

He ground his thumb against her clit and she cried out, hips bucking in spite of herself, her legs feeling like liquid. “Please…”

“I thought we established that begging doesn’t work with me.” She could see his smile in the mirror—pure wickedness. “But this is our first time. And you sound so very pretty…”

He slid a third finger into her, and kept rubbing against her clit, shifting the angle until she let out a startled scream, heat unspooling in her faster than she could believe. Oh God oh _fuck_ —

“That’s it. Wanted to see you with your shields down for weeks.” Nicholae’s voice was a harsh, low growl. “Coming undone because of me…”

His accent was thicker now, his words sharp around the edges, his voice impossibly deep, and he didn’t once let up with his fingers, stroking her inside and out until the string inside of her unraveled completely and her head fell back against his shoulder, gasping for air, her body shuddering.

Nicholae brought his fingers up to her lips again. “Clean them.”

It didn’t even occur to her to not obey, drawing his fingers into her mouth and swirling her tongue around them, licking them, Nicholae staring down at her with starving eyes. She felt like she was floating, like he was tethering her to the earth, but she didn’t want it to be over yet. She could feel him hard against her, and she wanted him to take what he wanted.

At last, he slid his fingers out of her mouth. “Very good.”

He pulled away from her and she swayed on the spot, but he immediately took her hand, letting her brace against him for a second before leading her into the bedroom.

This wasn’t the room she’d seen his father laid up in. She’d never been in this room before, never even glimpsed it. The sactum sanctorum.

“How do you feel about ropes?” he asked. “Not for this time, of course. But for future reference.”

How could he make that sound so _casual_?

Marta swallowed. She hadn’t thought about it, but the idea of being held down, the idea of control being taken… “I think I might… try it.” After a long discussion about what exactly such a situation would entail.

Nicholae nodded, clearly storing that information away for later, then tugged her into him. His thumb dragged over her bottom lip, his gaze considering. “So many things I want to do to you,” he murmured, and then he was kissing her.

For a second she was frozen as she realized—she hadn’t expected him to do that. Not to kiss her properly. And she certainly hadn’t expected him to kiss her like it _mattered_ , with a gentle thoroughness that had her knees going weak again.

But then—if he’d wanted someone to just suck his cock while he checked his emails, he would’ve hired someone. He’d told her that wasn’t what he wanted. He was impressed with her. He wanted to take care of her.

That made a warmth of an entirely different nature spread through her.

Marta wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back, and Nicholae made an approving noise in the back of his throat. His hands slid up her back, pinning her against him, and she found herself relaxing into it without a second thought, opening her mouth for him to slide his tongue inside, taking full control.

For a few moments it was just that. Kissing. Intensely, sure. It was filthy and deep, far from PG. But there was something sweet about it. She’d never say it out loud, especially where anyone else might hear, because he might kill her for it—but Nicholae Schiller had a softer side. One that he was showing to her now.

It made her feel special. Knowing that there was probably no one else alive who’d seen this.

Then his hand slid down to the back of her thigh, lifting it up and around his waist, and she had only a moment to feel him grinding against her, the fabric wonderfully rough against her still-sensitive folds, before he was lifting her and turning her, pressing her down into the bed.

Nicholae’s hands moved to her thighs, spreading them wide and squeezing. “Stay.”

She swallowed. “Yes, Nicholae.”

He gave a pleased, fleeting smile, his gaze raking over her. Completely naked and exposed right in front of him, under him, subject to his whims. It clearly thrilled him, and it thrilled her in turn. She felt like a butterfly pinned to a wall and yet—it was only making her that much hotter.

His hands moved away from her thighs, bracing on either side of her head. “Undo my pants. Take my cock out. Get me ready for you.”

They were crude instructions, to be sure, but somehow he sounded as imperious as when he was ordering some underling to speed up production. Her fingers didn’t shake at all this time as she did as she was told, undoing his pants, drawing his cock out. Fuck, he was big. It made sense, the man was over six feet tall for crying out loud, but knowing and seeing were two different things. The head was peeking out of the foreskin, already leaking, and she used that to slick him up, to give her a smooth glide as she stroked him, worked the foreskin down.

She did tease a little, because she couldn’t resist, and Nicholae growled at her. She dared to look up at him through her lashes, giving him a _who, me?_ expression that she hadn’t given anyone in years, and Nicholae grabbed a fistful of her hair, pushing himself down, trapping her hand between their bodies as he kissed her. It was a biting, ferocious kiss, the kind of kiss she’d originally thought he’d always give.

“Careful.” Their mouths were still so close his lips brushed against hers as he spoke. He tugged at her hair again, and her hips shot forward, her whole body tingling. “Next time I might punish you for that.”

Marta found herself actually looking forward to that possibility.

Nicholae released her and pushed back up, gently removing her hand and guiding himself between her legs. He paused, staring up at her. “Are you sure?”

It was oddly considerate of him to ask, although if she hadn’t been sure she would’ve said so a while ago. Marta started to nod, then remembered he wanted her to speak out loud. “Yes, Nicholae.”

A pleased look crossed his face and then concentration replaced it as he started to fill her.

She inhaled sharply, overwhelmed for a moment, her body reacquainting itself with how this all worked, how it all felt. Her hands slid up to his shoulders automatically, but Nicholae took them and pinned them down on either side of her head, his hands around her wrists.

 _Oh._ That—that had her shivering, had her clenching around him, and she saw his eyes close, his mouth fall open as he struggled to keep himself under control. He opened his eyes again, staring into what felt like the very heart of her. “You like that?”

She was trying to remember how to breathe.

“Marta.” Her name was a growl and she shuddered again. “Answer me.”

“Yes. Yes, I like it.”

He bent down, his nose brushing against hers. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Nicholae.”

“Very good girl.” He squeezed her wrists and thrust inside of her, and she saw stars. “I’m going to have such fun with you…”

She wanted to know what he meant by ‘fun’, was _eager_ to know, but Nicholae pushed himself up again, his hands still around her wrists, and began to move in earnest. She spread her thighs even wider, trying to get more of him inside of her, and he moved harder in response, his thrusts rough, and _fuck_ , yes. She loved it.

A moan ripped out of her, and she got a small growl of pleasure in response. Nicholae hit that angle again, aiming for it deliberately this time, and Marta’s fingers flexed helplessly, her head tipping back, feeling pulled in by the ocean and drowned. She couldn’t keep her head above water, and she didn’t want to. He had her, she was his, and it felt unbelievably good.

After months of being tight-lipped around everyone, careful about what she said and how she said it, choosing her words with care, just letting loose and letting whatever sounds spring out of her just _happen_ … it made her almost want to cry with relief. Her eyes felt hot and she cried out, again and again, writhing as he kept her pinned and thoroughly fucked her.

God, he was gonna fuck her brains out and she didn’t care in the least. She wanted him to.

Nicholae leaned in, kissing her savagely, messily, and she pushed up into it with abandon. “Just this once,” he told her, and the promise in his tone made her flush with heat all over again, “you can come whenever you want.”

“Just this once?”

He tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth. “Next time I might not be so nice.”

She wanted him to not be nice. She wanted him to tell her when, and how. But she was already close, trembling on the shivery edge, and she wasn’t sure she was physically capable of holding back just then.

“What do we say when people give us nice things?”

 _Why_ was he making something that should be so irritating sound so hot? “Thank you, Nicholae.”

“Good girl.” He shoved himself inside her, hard, and she cried out in surprise and pleasure, her legs seizing up. Fuck.

His thrusts were even harsher now, and she could tell he was close. The thought of that made her writhe, and she could barely even swallow, her throat was so dry.

Then Nicholae squeezed her wrists and bent down, nosing at her throat. The thought of his hand on her throat from before hit her like a bolt, and then he bit down, hard, and _fuck_ , she was coming.

She felt him growl against her skin, thrusting erratically, and then freezing, twitching, as he came.

Thankfully, he had the consideration to roll to the side so that he didn’t crush her as he released her wrists and landed next to her on the bed.

Marta had to remind herself how to breathe.

Nicholae reached out, stroking her hair out of her face. His thumb brushed against her cheek. “Good girl.”

He pushed himself up, and Marta realized, belatedly, that he still had his damn clothes on. “Be right back.”

It took a couple minutes, but when Nicholae returned, he had a warm washcloth and some water. Marta sipped at the latter while he used the former to gently clean her up. She wondered what that had looked like, earlier, her naked and pinned, spread out for him, Nicholae clothed, on top, fucking her.

Finished with clean up, he nodded at his clothes. “Undress me.”

Marta set the water aside and got up onto her knees on the bed, undoing the buttons of his shirt. It was an odd combination of submissiveness and being in control. She was undressing him at his command, but as she did so, he was submitting to how she moved him.

When she finished, she settled back on her knees, her hands in her lap. Watching him. Waiting, unsure what happened now.

He took her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking back and forth. “If you want, you can leave. Or you can just sleep.”

“Or?”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward ever so briefly. “Or, we take a shower. And we kiss, until we’re ready, and then we do this again. And this time…” One of his hands moved back down to her throat, his fingers stroking her pulse point.

She shivered.

“…I make it a little harder for you.”

Marta tipped her head back, her hand grabbing his wrist, moving his hand until it was wrapped around her throat properly. She squeezed his wrist, and Nicholae squeezed her throat in response. _Yes._

“The last one. I want the last one.”

Nicholae gave her a smile sharp enough to cut. “Excellent.”

And this time—this time there was nothing in her but the thrill of desire.


End file.
